☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
all you have is your fire
and the place you need to reach
“Follow me,” Seraphina says, simply, of the reaper. She does not ask for her name – she does not ask her what she is, or from where she comes, or why. Instead, she takes her inside the Capitol, onto winding, uneven sandstone streets, cracked from years of abuse and neglect; scorch marks line the walls, and many of the once-proud buildings that lined the sides of the streets, some of which had stood for a hundred years, lay in collapse. Even those that remained were not free of damage. Gaping holes ripped open the walls, and some had caved in upon themselves. This land – this kingdom – had withstood a siege, and they were still standing – but barely.
When she spoke again, her voice held a storyteller’s cadence; the rhythm of her words fell into time with the click of her steps. “When I was a girl, the king of this land was named Zolin. He was a monster.” Simple enough. So many kings were. “He drove the kingdom further and further into a war against the Night Kingdom, started by his father – they were provoked by nothing but glory and a desire to please the gods.” Gods. God. God - the sun god that seemed to have abandoned her. He hadn’t lived within these walls in a long, long time, if ever at all. “Denocte was the stronger kingdom; they had far greater resources than we. However, Zolin and his father were foolish. They continued to prolong the war, and their people suffered for it. They starved in the streets while the nobility sipped from golden wineglasses. Any opposition was hunted down and slaughtered methodically by the warden. Those that were capable were stolen off to war, and, as they died, he collared our children with Solterran steel and sent them to fight in their place.” She turns a corner, and the steel trap around her throat catches in the light of the sun; the light that the woman beside of her swallows whole. It is a comfort, in a sense, to move at her side, to see her swallow her god’s creation with such darkling ease – even the sun is not unconquerable. “He was a monster, but he was a creature of folly. Whatever intrigued him, he desired – and he became intrigued by a tribe of horses known as the Davke. He captured and enslaved two of them, and he killed most of the rest when they attempted to save their queen’s favorite daughter…Avdotya.” Her voice catches, slightly, on the name. Avdotya. She knew what she was. She should have known better. “When Avdotya defied him, he tried to have her killed…but she fought her way to freedom and killed him. Afterwards, the capitol exploded in rebellion and flame.” For a moment, she stares down the street at scorch marks and gashes – she had seen something similar, once before, but tempered because so many of the participants lived in the capitol. The Davke had no such inhibitions.
“…When the situation finally cooled enough for someone to take over what remained of Solterra, it was a foreigner who stepped up – Maxence. He appointed Avdotya his Regent.” Simple enough. Some part of her still stings to think of Maxence; Maxence, who believed in her, unlike anyone ever had before. Maxence, who she’d failed so terribly. “After his death, I took the crown, rather than she. I should have known then what she was planning when she said that she did not desire it.” She was nothing if not ambitious. A long pause, silent save for the thunderclaps of their hooves along the streets; wherever her gaze is, it is not on the stretch of landscape ahead of him. In her mind’s eye, she sees fire and blood, and, briefly, the corners of her lips twist in a rage. “Zolin’s death had not been vengeance enough for her. Perhaps I could be understanding if it were merely those compliant in their slaughter or the nobility, but her people seem to blame all of Day – even those who suffered just as they did, those who lost their entire family to Zolin’s whims, children who had never even seen his rule. They attacked us, and…even those who were not warriors, who could not fight were not saved from the destruction. Even if they were not met with the tip of a spear, the fire and collapsing buildings…” She trails off. The implication is clear, and likely unnecessary.
She pauses; straightens. They are near the center of the city, now, and she can hear the soft gush of the half-broken fountain that serves as their water source in the near distance. “They plundered what they could from the nobility, and then they disappeared back into the desert – like ghosts. Now, we decide how to proceed.” And how to proceed; to feed the cycle of violence or linger back to lick at her wounds like a coward? Either way, she could not risk too much movement now, among the ashes – but neither could she risk stagnation.
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notes | I am so, so sorry for the wait on this. /sobs
tag | @Calliope
all you have is your fire
and the place you need to reach
“Follow me,” Seraphina says, simply, of the reaper. She does not ask for her name – she does not ask her what she is, or from where she comes, or why. Instead, she takes her inside the Capitol, onto winding, uneven sandstone streets, cracked from years of abuse and neglect; scorch marks line the walls, and many of the once-proud buildings that lined the sides of the streets, some of which had stood for a hundred years, lay in collapse. Even those that remained were not free of damage. Gaping holes ripped open the walls, and some had caved in upon themselves. This land – this kingdom – had withstood a siege, and they were still standing – but barely.
When she spoke again, her voice held a storyteller’s cadence; the rhythm of her words fell into time with the click of her steps. “When I was a girl, the king of this land was named Zolin. He was a monster.” Simple enough. So many kings were. “He drove the kingdom further and further into a war against the Night Kingdom, started by his father – they were provoked by nothing but glory and a desire to please the gods.” Gods. God. God - the sun god that seemed to have abandoned her. He hadn’t lived within these walls in a long, long time, if ever at all. “Denocte was the stronger kingdom; they had far greater resources than we. However, Zolin and his father were foolish. They continued to prolong the war, and their people suffered for it. They starved in the streets while the nobility sipped from golden wineglasses. Any opposition was hunted down and slaughtered methodically by the warden. Those that were capable were stolen off to war, and, as they died, he collared our children with Solterran steel and sent them to fight in their place.” She turns a corner, and the steel trap around her throat catches in the light of the sun; the light that the woman beside of her swallows whole. It is a comfort, in a sense, to move at her side, to see her swallow her god’s creation with such darkling ease – even the sun is not unconquerable. “He was a monster, but he was a creature of folly. Whatever intrigued him, he desired – and he became intrigued by a tribe of horses known as the Davke. He captured and enslaved two of them, and he killed most of the rest when they attempted to save their queen’s favorite daughter…Avdotya.” Her voice catches, slightly, on the name. Avdotya. She knew what she was. She should have known better. “When Avdotya defied him, he tried to have her killed…but she fought her way to freedom and killed him. Afterwards, the capitol exploded in rebellion and flame.” For a moment, she stares down the street at scorch marks and gashes – she had seen something similar, once before, but tempered because so many of the participants lived in the capitol. The Davke had no such inhibitions.
“…When the situation finally cooled enough for someone to take over what remained of Solterra, it was a foreigner who stepped up – Maxence. He appointed Avdotya his Regent.” Simple enough. Some part of her still stings to think of Maxence; Maxence, who believed in her, unlike anyone ever had before. Maxence, who she’d failed so terribly. “After his death, I took the crown, rather than she. I should have known then what she was planning when she said that she did not desire it.” She was nothing if not ambitious. A long pause, silent save for the thunderclaps of their hooves along the streets; wherever her gaze is, it is not on the stretch of landscape ahead of him. In her mind’s eye, she sees fire and blood, and, briefly, the corners of her lips twist in a rage. “Zolin’s death had not been vengeance enough for her. Perhaps I could be understanding if it were merely those compliant in their slaughter or the nobility, but her people seem to blame all of Day – even those who suffered just as they did, those who lost their entire family to Zolin’s whims, children who had never even seen his rule. They attacked us, and…even those who were not warriors, who could not fight were not saved from the destruction. Even if they were not met with the tip of a spear, the fire and collapsing buildings…” She trails off. The implication is clear, and likely unnecessary.
She pauses; straightens. They are near the center of the city, now, and she can hear the soft gush of the half-broken fountain that serves as their water source in the near distance. “They plundered what they could from the nobility, and then they disappeared back into the desert – like ghosts. Now, we decide how to proceed.” And how to proceed; to feed the cycle of violence or linger back to lick at her wounds like a coward? Either way, she could not risk too much movement now, among the ashes – but neither could she risk stagnation.
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notes | I am so, so sorry for the wait on this. /sobs
tag | @Calliope
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
